Galaxy
by tankygirl
Summary: Future AU crackfic, mostly the next generation. There's no time or space, everything just melts away, when I'm lying here in your galaxy.
1. Chapter 1

AU future crackfic. It's strange, I know, but I've written quite a bit and might as well share it. Mostly next generation characters, with original GG characters here and there. No flames thanks, it's bizarre, I don't need someone else to tell me. If you have something constructive to say about my writing style, go nuts; I'm no English or writing major. It's unbeta'd, any mistakes are mine.

Disclaimer: We all know who belongs to me and who belongs to the CW. The proverb at the start belongs to Chuang Tzu, and the lyrics in the summary belong to Jessica Mauboy and Stan Walker.

_I dreamed I was a butterfly, flitting hither and thither around in the sky; then I awoke. Now I wonder: Am I a man who dreamt of being a butterfly, or am I a butterfly dreaming that I am a man?_

one.

_Are the footsteps getting closer?_

Summer tried to muffle her breathing and pushed her face further into the concrete slab. The abandoned building had turned out to be more trap than shelter, and more unstable. It had only taken a few rounds loosed by the NYPD and to cause a cataclysmic crumbling of the walls and ceiling, some of which had been unceremoniously dumped on her as she scrambled for an escape.

Footfalls, voices, sirens, the nearby subway - all merged to be the soundtrack to what Summer was sure would be her final minutes of freedom. All the running, lying, stealing, had been pointless. She was going to either die here or be caught and die later. After she'd served whatever purpose she was wanted for.

A voice, terrifyingly close, caused her to cringe, desperately willing herself to be smaller, to become

invisible beneath the mortar and insulation.

_No, no, no, no…_

A pair of black shoes, dull with the dust of the building, appeared in her restricted line of vision from beneath the pile of rubble. Summer's heart beat like a war drum in her ears, and she thought that alone would give her away. Her arm was twisted painfully beneath her, and her entire left side ached terribly, but she dare not even breathe.

"I don't see the point in this, how are we even supposed to know who we're looking for? Or what for that matter," the man- FBI, NYPD, either way he heralded her end- the man shouted out to others who were combing the building. The answer was broken, she heard only snippets,

"There was nowhere….run….want to….they'll have to change. If they…..we'll know."

Summer wasn't an idiot. Pieces or no, she knew this meant that her best chance of escape was as dead as she was going to be. It wasn't as much of a blow as it might have been, since she knew she had no energy to Shift anyway. A mouse or rat may have been a powerless option, but it was small and fast and may have been able to slip between their fingers; bear or wolf may have at least been able to tear the way free. But with her power depleted, Summer was as like to become invisible as she was to change shape.

Her thoughts fluttered to Milo, and she wondered where he was. Somewhere in the building, hiding as a rodent or squashed into a dark corner? Maybe he had already been found, drugged and sat chained in the back of a van. Or maybe he had escaped, done something right where she had gone wrong.

Summer imagined him wheeling overhead or bounding through the streets, high on the adrenalin and euphoria of freedom. The scene left a bitter taste fermenting in the back of her throat that was unfair; he would be free, and for that she should be grateful. But right then she was too afraid and hurt to feel guilt; looming defeat left little room for anything else. She thought of her brothers and sister, her broken family, and wished she could see them again. The whole reason she and Milo had returned to New York was to seek them, and now she never would.

The pressure on her ribcage made Summer's breathing increasingly difficult, and as the black shoes wandered in and out of her view, shouting and swearing, she felt useless anger rise in her throat.

_Fuck this city. _

A sudden lightening in the weight crushing her filled her full of relief as the next breath came easier, and dread quickly followed on its heels. Black shoes was fishing through the rubble that shielded her from view. Summer closed her navy eyes, preparing for whatever was to come as he raised the sheet of plaster which had been her cover.

_If there is a God, he might just shoot me._

"Hey, we found two! Quick, get over here, we found two! Hey, stop moving right now!" Black shoes dropped the plaster, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out as the weight landed back on her bruised side. His retreating footsteps sounded surreal, and for a moment Summer wondered if he had shot her and this was her brain in the throes of death.

Yet he didn't come back. All the voices and footfalls faded to a reasonable distance. She moved her head to look around, darkness and dust making up most of the view. Escape crossed her mind, doubt coming with it. Would the noise of movement bring him back?

_I'm dead anyway…_she pulled her arm free and dragged herself from under what had been the ceiling, wincing at the bumps and bruises she was sure would be unpleasant if she lived long enough to see morning. Summer staggered to her feet and took a shaky step forward. Her foot buckled, and the ground rushed up to meet her. Tears came to her eyes as she sat up, because as immature as it was, _it isn't fair._ She wiped away the tears that fell, pain shooting up her right hand as she leant on it. Drawing it closer to her face, little star shaped indentations bled from her palm.

_Glass?_

She looked up, lights of the city silhouetting a tangle of bars and wire.

_A cage. A cage to take me away._

Summer stared hazily, _no, not a cage._

A fire escape.

Despite how hopeless her situation had been moments ago, and how powerless she would be if black shoes came back, she was not going to lay here and wait to die. Not with a slight chance of freedom. Either they'd chase her out the window and shoot her as she slipped down the side of the building, or she would drag herself to safety through the streets of Brooklyn.

Gathering her resolve, she pushed herself up and glared at the window defiantly.

Summer Humphrey began to crawl.

It's said that time is constant, but the climb down that fire escape and across the block to the alley Summer was currently sitting in could have taken days for all she knew. Head against the brick behind her, she breathed an easy breath; her side felt better for the freedom, and as stiff as she was nothing felt too seriously injured.

Summer Humphrey had trouble understanding why she was born as she was, especially in moments such as these. Gifted with the power to Shift, it was an aspect of her person that came with all sorts of perks and pitfalls; to see the world as so few did, to know worlds so few even knew existed. By the time it had manifested she was old enough to know it was best kept a secret.

Serena had known about her gift, as had her step father; other members of her family knew enough to avoid the subject. Keeping secrets on the Upper East Side was near on impossible, but this was more than a scandal over money or wearing last season's heels. This was something new, new to the UES, new to the world. And anything new was dangerous.

But fate had a way of waylaying the best laid plans of mice and men, and secrets were nowhere as unsafe as on the Upper East Side. It seemed to her the world conspired to push her out into the fray. But Summer did not have the spirit of a fighter. Strong, wilful, stubborn- but she was not prone to violence. Or at least, she hadn't been. A gentle soul can suffer so long before it breaks and is reforged by something stronger, unyielding.

Scuffling in the shadows should have frightened her, but at this point she was too tired, sore and relieved to have energy for panic.

"Oh God…." She looked to her left and saw a figure, "if you're here to rob me, I have nothing. And if you're here to kill me, just do it, I don't care right now." Summer waved dismissively at him, sighing into the night air. A familiar chuckle rose from his lips, and Milo Sparks stepped out into the glow of the streetlight.

"Oh Summer, it isn't all that bad," he walked over to her; a slight limp had him favouring his right leg. He pulled out a slightly squashed cigarette, straightening it out before attempting to light it, "After all, you could be dead," he took a puff, smoke drifting from his lips as he looked her over with a critical eye, "hmmm….you do look like shit though."

She wasn't sure whether it's relief at seeing him alive or if she's slowly going mad, but suddenly it's all too funny and Summer laughs, an airy chime she inherited from her mother. Milo laughs too, because it's hard not to when she does, and he slides down next to her on the pavement. She giggles, smiling and looking up at the stars, drowned by the light of the city.

"Fuck, I hate New York."


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer; I own no song lyrics or the universe this takes place in. We all know who belongs to the CW and who belongs to me. The lyrics belong to Jessica Mauboy and Stan Walker.

If you're confused, good. I like to stretch out my exposition.

_There's no time or space_

_Everything just melts away_

_When I'm lying here_

_In your galaxy._

two.

_Three weeks later_

Oddly quiet, the streets were empty save for Summer's footsteps, reverberating off the facades of buildings and down narrow alleyways. The traffic lights ahead of her rhythmically changed even though there were no cars to direct.

"Stupid...I'm stupid, this brackish bacterial swamp of a city is stupid…" she muttered to herself, drawing the hood of her jumper around her neck to protect it from the chill. Hands stuffed into the pockets of her hoodie, Summer stomped and scuffed her way down the footpath, trying to make New York appreciate how much she hated it.

Rounding the corner, her deep blue eyes took in the familiar street. Once, as a child, she had walked down this path with her mother and siblings. The memory had sounded like laughter and tasted like ice cream and strawberries on hot August days, but was now silent and left a bitter taste on her tongue.

Chasing away the brutish return of better days, Summer fixed her gaze firmly on the concrete as she continued her solitary march, looking forward to putting New York and its people in her wake.

* * *

><p>"Noah, do not walk out that door!"<p>

Those were the last words Juliet shouted at her son as he slammed shut the oak door which fronted their townhouse.

She ran a hand through her fawn coloured hair, slowly drawing in a breath. She made her way back to the foyer where her husband innocuously hung up his jacket. He regarded her with a glance, mouth forming a hard line which he wore more often than not, "He'll be back Juliet."

She scoffed, "I know he'll be back Nate. But this storming out of the house, throwing a tantrum like a child, is wearing thin, okay? And you, standing there in the background like you're part of the fucking furniture doesn't help." Juliet's ire bounced off the walls.

Nate sighed, "What do you want me to say, Juliet? It's a phase, he'll get over it."

"A phase? A phase, that's great, thankyou so much…."

Nate shed his tie, sliding his wedding ring back on his finger, "Maybe he just wanted to get out of this house. I can't blame him."

It was soft, but he still isn't sure if Juliet didn't hear him or is ignoring what he said. Either way, she says nothing.

He doesn't care.

* * *

><p>Slamming on the brakes, the car skidded around the corner as Noah threw it back into gear and stood on the accelerator. One hand on the wheel, he had the fingers of his left hand threaded through his honey coloured hair, supporting his head.<p>

After yet another debate with his mother over whether he'd spend yet another summer with his father's family, Noah had taken a random set of keys from the Archibald collection. Skidding from the drive, he hoped there were thick black lines decorating the blacktop in his wake.

He lit and puffed on a roach, thinking over his mother's words. "Goddammit…It's good for you Noah, they're the people who will make you someone, Noah.." He inhaled again, pissed at his mother's implication that he's no-one, and without the Van der Bilts that's all he'd ever be.

A barely managed skid around the next corner had him heading toward where his father used to meet up with an old girlfriend, Claire or Blair or something. Nate insisted they were friends before and after they dated, but Noah tended to believe he was more interested in their sexual relations than friendly ones.

Momentarily suspended in thought, the next corner approached too fast for Noah to decelerate, and he rounded it at a far greater speed than he was comfortable. The car fishtailed as he straightened the wheel and mounted the sidewalk. The expensive suspension did nothing to dampen the violent movement, and just as he felt himself regain some control a flash of denim stood out in the headlights.

Her head whipped around, dark curls bouncing about her shoulders.

An almost comical look of horror.

The steering wheel banked hard to the left, the speed and abrupt movement sending the car up on two wheels. The last thing he sees is a pair of dark blue eyes.

* * *

><p>Rolling, his centre of gravity suspended.<p>

Smashed glass.

Shearing metal.

Burning, crushing, stinging.

Pain.

Black.

* * *

><p>No way.<p>

In one of those terrifying moments that is over before you realise it began, Summer felt whatever god or gods may exist were looking down on her in amusement and chuckling. Death had pretty much been centimetres away, yet it happened so fast she kind of stood there in a stupor.

So close. All the times she had nearly met death, and the closest she had come yet was some idiot hoon.

No. Way.

On the edges of her vision, a glow of flames ignited a primal stirring within the girl.

_No._

The smell of heated metal and petrol.

_Way_.

Summer staunchly looked away and shut her eyes, squashing the growing panic within her which fed on her inaction. Because that part of her life was behind her. Because she was done with the kind of self sacrificing, benevolent bullshit her gift demanded of her.

Because Summer Humphrey's only responsibility is to Summer Humphrey, and she's tired and alone and done.

_He saved you, _that vocal conscience of hers murmured.

_He nearly killed me, _she reasoned.

_Walk away now, you're killing him._

Summer ground that thought back into the depths of her mind, because that was one argument that had been thoroughly worn out.

_Circumstance killed him._

_Circumstance placed you here. Were you not walking the sidewalk, maybe he'd not be bleeding to death in that car._

Summer's thoughts warred a moment longer before stilling, and her urge to run away quelled within her. She felt her legs yield and begin her sprint towards the mangled wreck,

"Fuck, I hate this city."


	3. Chapter 3

The acute stillness of the room was eerie, but given the choice between that and talking to Juliet, Nate chose to remain silent. He wondered if she had become as aware of the rhythmic beating of the monitors attached to their son as he had, though she did seem absorbed in examining the white wash of the walls.

The call had come four hours earlier at an obscene time; the conversation was stilted and awkward as when asked where his son was, Nate honestly couldn't say. Juliet had been frantic, swinging violently between hysterical crying and frustrated anger. She calmed some once they arrived at the hospital and the doctor told them that-despite the severity of the accident- Noah was relatively unscathed.

Though yet to regain consciousness.

As she popped her head into the room, his son's doctor cleared her throat, "Hey, how's it all going in here?" She was a sweet, albeit young for someone in her profession. But she had an easy gaze and a warm smile, and Nate had never been a man who was hard to win over.

"Fine. We're fine." Juliet's voice dripped with such propriety it made Nate feel a little ill. Looking at her now, no-one would guess she had married into UES society, not been born into it. Nate swore she was more down to earth when they married, but he couldn't tell she was assimilating into another socialite_, becoming his mother_, until it was too late. They had two children, and as indifferent as he had grown, he would not divorce her and see them every other weekend.

Nate would not become his father.

The brown haired physician smiled, padded into the room and slid Noah's chart into place. She noted the monitors connected to his son, "So is your boy."

He sat up straighter, "What?"

"The CT and MRI are clear, and his stats are all within normal limits and stable," she checked the dressings on the small wounds across his shoulder, "Honestly, it's incredible. I've never seen a person come away from an accident like this without serious injury."

Juliet laughed in relief, "Oh, Nate, he's going to be okay. God, I was so worried, you have no idea how worried, my baby boy," she ran a hand over Noah's brow, "I should ring Anne and Claire, let them know." Nate stood at his son's shoulder; nothing had changed, but with that news Noah just looked stronger.

"Nate? Okay?"

"What?"

"I'm going to ring your mother?" Her voice sounded like displeasure with a hint of anger. _Oh good, she's back to normal._

"Fine, fine, whatever." She shut the door with more force than was necessary, but he couldn't blame her. No matter how much of an asshole he felt, Nate just couldn't bring himself to care. Blood as blue as his ran deep however, and he was a little embarrassed the doctor had seen their squabble. He smiled _that_ smile, and she returned it with a grin; age hadn't taken his way with women, "So, does this mean he can come home soon?" Nate was keen to gain distance from the hospital and Juliet in equal measure.

"Well not just yet, but if all remains stable after he wakes up, I don't see why not," she answered, taking note of a few readings. At his furrowed brow, she patted his arm gently, "Don't worry Mr Archilbald, it's normal. His body has been through an ordeal, he may sleep a lot more than usual for a few weeks or even months."

Nate nodded gratefully, "These cuts on his shoulder, they aren't going to leave him with problems later?" She moved to stand beside him, running her hands down Noah's left arm,

"No, none of them are severe." She reached his hand, and pulled it up to examine it closer, "Where did he get this?"

Across the back of his son's hand ran a pink patch of skin. It puckered and smoothed at random points, almost as if to make a pattern in his tanned flesh. Obviously a burn scar.

"I've…I've never seen it before. It must be from the crash." Nate answered, his brow furrowing at the deliberate contours as he ran the pads of his fingers across the mark. The doctor shook her head,

"It's already sealed, like a wound from months ago, and so particular…if I didn't know better I'd say the original wound was a design. Like a brand." He must have looked incensed because she quickly added, "Not that I'm suggesting that at all. It's just my experience."

She met his gaze unsteadily, and Nate felt an odd change to the atmosphere of the room, "You must have seen something like it before, right?"

The doctor promptly put Noah's arm back on the bed, making for the door. She looked over her shoulder, smiling tightly, "Maybe once."

* * *

><p>Summer wandered into the hostel, too worn out to avoid the smack in the back of the head from Milo. Since the close call three weeks ago they had been laying low, and Milo was a man of action; he did not suffer boredom well.<p>

"Where the hell have you been? You missed dinner."

"Mmmhmmm.." came her response as she collapsed into the bunk beneath his. What had seemed uncomfortable last night felt like a posture-pedic mattress now.

"Wasn't even that bad. Pumpkin soup, I think. It was orange. Didn't taste like anything, might have been tom- hey, are you listening?" He swung down from the bunk above hers, pastel green eyes narrowed, "I'm trying to piss you off and you're not playing, come on, I'm going insane in here."

"Believe it or not I really don't care what flavour of soup I was lucky enough to miss, Milo."

"Touch-ey! Having your woman times?"

Summer rolled her eyes, "No, I am not having my 'woman times', where the hell did you get that anyway?"

"I'll have you know I'm making friends here in our own personal slice of hell. One of them is says he used to be a monk, veeery politically correct bunch it turns out," She giggled, imagining Milo Sparks talking to anyone devoutly religious was both an amusing and concerning scene, "Anyway, so about the mystery soup you missed, it came with this….."

He continued to ramble about the food despite knowing full well Summer didn't care. She tuned out his voice as she stared at the curious scar on her palm, a slight swirling pattern scattered across the soft skin. Her brow furrowed as her fingertips traced the outline, w_hat the hell?_ She had never borne such a mark after healing before. She thought back to it, the familiar way she'd felt the flesh knit back together and the life force returning to the boy beneath her hands. The tension and strength in each heartbeat, the smooth rush of blood through the vessels, it all felt normal. Well, as normal as such a thing could.

And yet, on the edges of her vision had been a shadow. An ominous encroaching darkness that ebbed and flowed, receding with each bounding pulse as she healed him. It was alien to her, but had a force that tugged at her all the same. Then just as she had noticed it, it was gone.

"Earth to Summer?" Milo's upside down head popped over the edge of the bunk, regarding her quizzically, "What's so interesting about the back of your hand? It can't be a better conversationalist than me, surely."

Summer smiled, closing her hand and stuffing in behind her head, "Sorry, it's just been a weird night."

"Yeah, sure. This city is full of them."

She closed her eyes, tolling to face the wall. Shutting off thoughts of the walk home, she was glad Milo hadn't asked about it; she wasn't even sure what had happened herself. As soon as sense had returned to her, Summer had run from the accident as fast as she could. It was four blocks before she realised no-one was following her, but still she looped the long way around the back of the hostel. The entire way home Summer had cursed her stupidity and recklessness and compassion, but the emotional side of her was oddly calm, _we did the right thing, do not worry so._ Either way, Milo would have been livid if he knew.

A rustling from above disturbed her drowsing state, "So, where the hell were you tonight?"


	4. Chapter 4

It's short and a bit boring but an important chapter, for whoever is reading. A better one will follow tomorrow.

* * *

><p>Heat.<p>

Flashing lights.

_Painpainpain._

A cool sensation, relief. Another light, this one acute and painful.

_Am I dead?_

Noah blinked, the hazy light becoming more of a pinprick as walls and a ceiling came into focus. A tan face loomed over him, presumably the person responsible for the penlight. _No, not dead, _"Ugh…" he tried to wave the woman away, but another hand grasped his as he lifted it.

"Oh my boy! My boy, my baby boy!" Noah recognised his mother's voice, pitched with emotion.

"Mrs Archibald, please give him some room, just stand back for me." Juliet released his hand as the doctor and nurse busied themselves around him, and Noah noted his father smiling rigidly in the corner.

"I'm…really, okay. It's okay." His voice rasped against his dry throat and the doctor handed him a glass of water,

"Well you certainly seem that way. Gave us quite a scare Noah, how are you feeling?"

_Confused, why aren't I dead?_

"Thirsty. Hungry. A little sore, but I'm really okay."

"Mhmm, do you remember what happened?"

"Ugh…" Noah thought back to his last conscious image, _blue eyes, _"I….I flipped the car. Oh shit, Dad, I flipped the car!" Nate chuckled, moving up to stand beside his bed,

"Yeah, you did. But I'm too relieved you're okay to be pissed off about the car. Yet," Noah laughed lightly, his ribs aching, "You should see it, it's a miracle you weren't seriously hurt." He frowned, remembering the violent rolling and searing pain he'd felt before blacking out.

"Are…are you sure?"

His doctor chuckled, "The lack of injuries speaks for itself. You are, by some miracle as your father said, totally fine. And now that you've woken up, we can start working on getting you home."

* * *

><p>Doctor Wood quietly shut the door to the Archibald boy's room, relieved to have pried herself from his mother's questions. Juliet Archibald seemed unimpressed with her single word answers, but the young physician was eager to talk to a man she knew wouldn't wait.<p>

When she had still been a resident, fresh faced and nervous, Sarah Wood had worked in an Emergency Ward on the other side of the city. It was there she met the retired Alice Barlow, a name many doctors laughed at for her dogmatic pursuit of alternative healing. Initially, Sarah had thought this meant aromatherapy or acupressure. When she finally met Doctor Barlow, she found something different altogether. Alice Barlow had dedicated much of her career to investigating faith healers.

She had stories from all across the globe of Christians, Hindus, cultists, even Satanists curing people of disease through religion. In her youth she had traversed the world looking for fountains, prophesised children and rituals to put in her books; Alice was considered one of the world's foremost experts on the subject. One night in the cafeteria, she confided in Sarah that she had found a new type of faith healer, who left marks on every person they touched. Burns where the divine force had been channelled from healer to victim, and photos to prove it. Like most others Doctor Wood regarded this with scepticism, and hadn't given these marks a second thought; until she had seen the exact same thing on the Archibald boy. Sarah harboured a secret fascination for Alice's passion, one she kept hidden for fear of ending up as much of a joke as her mentor. The minute Noah came into the emergency room she knew it was critical she heard the story from the paramedic.

She removed her latex gloves, seeing the solid EMT at the end of the hall. Dusting off her hands, she met his gaze, "Hi, I'm Doctor Sarah Wood, we spoke on the phone?" He shook her outstretched hand but didn't form a smile.

"That we did."

"I know your shift is over, and thankyou fo-"

"Miss, I know you mean well, but it's been a lousy night. Get to the point."

Sarah stopped abruptly, clearing her throat, "Right, then. You attended the Archibald boy earlier tonight?"

"Yes."

"And you cut his shirt off to examine him at the scene, yes?"

"…yes." He seemed to think her question was inane, but when he arrived without the shirt Sarah had no idea the real extent of his bleeding. Even so, the amount dried on his chest and down his arm was suspicious enough for her to question why he haemorrhaged from such minor wounds.

"When you arrived, he had been thrown from the car?"

"Yeah, to me it sounds like you read the report, good for you. I'm going home."

"Sir, I-"

"I'm pretty sure I said to get-"

The doctor grabbed him by the elbow, "Was there blood?"

"What?" Sarah raised an eyebrow, about to repeat herself, "That boy totalled a car, of course there was blood."

"Did you find the source?"

"He stopped haemorrhaging, we turned to the erratic cardiac rhythm. We packed the wounds on his shoulder."

"How much blood was there?"

"The car is completely scrapped. There was plenty."

Sarah nodded, absorbing what he said and trying to fit it into what she already knew.

"…okay. Thank you."

The EMT rubbed his temples, "Okay? That's it? Why is that important?"

Sarah looked over her shoulder at his room, wondering if Alice Barlow still lived at the same address, "Because there is no way he lost that much blood from his injuries. It came from something else."


	5. Chapter 5

If there's anyone out there reading, I'm sorry it's a little boring right now. It will pick up, I promise.

* * *

><p><em>One month later<em>

"There are those in history who have theorised that the human body is a vessel, a means in which to channel the energy of living beings. Many religions believe this to be the soul, the element within us which makes us human. Native tribes from all over the world embrace the idea of a totem or spirit animal which is inextricably linked with the soul, even going so far as to say a person is able to take the form of…"

Noah noticed the pause in his teacher's voice, however not the purpose. He continued scawling on his textbook as she loomed above him,

"Mister Archibald, is my philosophy lesson not stimulating enough?" Noah met the irate, hooded gaze of his teacher sheepishly,

"Uh, no. I'm sorry." Her eyes softened a little and she allowed a slight smile,

"Maybe I could speak with you after class? There are still a few lessons I'd like you to catch up on."

* * *

><p>Noah wandered up to the front of the room as the rest of his class filed out, wishing he was with them. He never liked trouble, and for the most part he'd never known it. Noah was an easy-going yes man, and as a child he had been happy that way. But now it all felt so wrong, so forced, so…<em>fake. <em>All of a sudden everything that came with being a member of the elite had begun to irk him; the parties and people, the gossip. Part of it came from the responsibility his parents had decided to heap on him since he had told them he was going to forgo college, and part came from an iron wilfulness not to become his father.

Mrs Ghild invited him to take a seat beside her, which he uneasily did. She folded her hands on her desk, looking at him a moment.

"Noah."

"…miss?"

"It's been a fortnight since you came back to school."

He frowned, "I was only away a week and a half." _What is she getting at?_

"Regardless, what happened was traumatic for you. How are you feeling?"

Noah's frown deepened, and he gave his teacher a sideways look, "…fine." He's wary, wondering why she cares, "Did my mother put you up to this?"

The middle aged teacher smiled, chuckling a little, "I'm sure the school has a fantastic psychologist debriefing you every second day, and I am by no means trying to analyse your feelings or dreams. I like you, Noah, I just want to know you're okay."

The senior philosophy class was not one well received by parents at St Judes; it was seen as a soft, useless subject for the progeny of New York's high society. But Noah was entranced by the complexity and poetry of it, and he couldn't care less about how it looked on his transcript.

Noah regarded her silently, unsure of how much he wanted to share. Of all the teachers he had she was least likely to feed his mother's neurosis.

"You know, I really do feel okay. But dreams….I've been having dreams."

"Of the crash?"

He shook his head, "Of a crash. But I don't know, things are…wrong." Noah felt stupid explaining it, it was a dream. They're supposed to be erratic and senseless. An encouraging smile from his teacher prompted him further, "It's just…there's people there. In the car."

"Strangers?"

"No. Well, yes. I mean, I've seen them before, I think. Anyway, I'm not even driving , I'm in the back. And there's this woman, and I feel like she's my Mum but I know she's not. Then it's like the world just…explodes. Everything is hot and painful and loud, and I'm…"

"What?"

"Terrified. I'm scared, and I wake up scared."

It's a conflicting moment; he's relieved to tell someone but feels vulnerable in the same vein. Mrs Ghild clears her throat, leaning on her desk as she collects her thoughts, "Noah, I know you're a resilient boy. You've bounced back from something you'll probably look back on as a life-changing event, it's okay not to be totally unscathed."

"It's not like that. These dreams, it's not…me. I don't feel like me. They aren't mine."

A minute of silence passed between them.

_She thinks I'm mental._

Noah smiled wryly, "Haha, you know, you're right. I'm over analysing this." _Please let it go._

"Well, just be glad I'm not a psychologist, we'd be in here for hours." They shared a half-hearted laugh as Noah gathered his books to leave, "Just, go easy on yourself. It's okay to need a while to get over this."

"Yeah, I know, thanks Miss." He turned to the door, stopping when the teacher tapped him on the shoulder,

"If I was shrink, it'd be prudent for me to point out this little scribble which has been all over your work lately." She handed him the book he'd been doodling on with a grin. Noah pressed his mouth into a line as he glanced at the swirling pattern he'd been subconsciously rendering on his book, and every piece of work since the accident.

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><p>The city flew by beneath him while he glided along the warm air currents. The great emerald expanse of Central Park off to the left, the skyscrapers that formed the Upper East Side lining the horizon inspired a sense of familiarity and foreboding.<p>

As the air temperature dropped so too did Noah's altitude; he adjusted his tail feathers accordingly, coasting smoothly amongst the city rather than above it. Fingers of sunlight desperately clung to the environment around him, and lights instead of orange lit silhouettes eventually formed the backdrop of his flight.

A sudden drop flipped his insides, and when Noah moved to flap his wing-s desperate to break his fall- he looked out to see his hands clasping at nothing. The city rushed up to meet him, and just as he collided with the pavement he found himself walking the street he'd been flying over moments ago.

The air that had been warm as a flacon was crisp, amd he stuffed his hands into his pocket. Traffic lights to his left changed, and a sudden squeal had him turning.

A flash of silver and a screech of sheering metal later, Noah was compelled towards the wreckage by a foreign force. Though the flames licked at him, he wrenched the door from its hinges with a few sharp tugs and dragged the bleeding form from the driver's seat.

Blood covered his hands, the ground, the driver's shirt, _everything._ Flesh was visible where the skin of his shoulders and chest had split, while a gash in his forehead bled copiously down his face. Despite the crimson distorting the features, Noah recognised _this _face.

It was his.


	6. Chapter 6

A short update for anyone who's reading…

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><p>"And follow the light….good." The doctor clicked off the pen light, smiling at Noah as he made notes, "You look great, good as new from what I can see. Any dizziness, disorientation?"<p>

"Nope, nothing. I feel normal. Tired, but normal." Noah's sick of these people, all of their poking and prodding, the endless Goddamn questions.

"Tired?" His GP frowned, "Trouble sleeping?"

Since sharing his dreams with his father a few days earlier and earning a dubious expression which clearly said, 'I have no idea what to say', Noah was reticent to go into depth, "Just dreams is all." The aging physician smiled,

"I suppose that's expected, given the accident. Any lingering pain?"

"No, no, all good." Noah buttoned up his shirt as he slid off the exam tale, _please_ _shut up and let me leave…_

"It would seem that might be the only souvenir you're taking from this then," He said as he documented, motioning to his hand. Noah looked down at the pink flesh, smiling wryly and making a small, noncommittal noise. The doctor ushered him to the door, "Don't forget our follow up appointment, 3 weeks." Noah shook his hand, thanked him and hit the street with more bounce in his step.

He'd always thought of himself as a patient man. Like his father, Noah would sooner follow and appease than resist; throughout his childhood and adolescence he had been everything his parents (Juliet) wanted him to be. An example every Upper East Side family wished their sons to follow.

Yet despite his dutiful past, Noah found it increasingly difficult to cater to his mother's expectations. He was thinking over what tie to wear to this event or which pretentious debutante towas most appropriate for that occasion. And despite his dissatisfaction the idea of a 'normal life' held no appeal either. Between his contempt for his mother, his disappointment in his father and frustration with his own indecision he felt this constant sense of being torn. A tugging, like he was meant to be elsewhere, a place in his mind, warm and dark. Something unknown and frightening and…familiar.

An impact from his left had Noah stagger sideways as a basketball bounced off his shoulder,

"What the fuck man, you're late. Twenty friggin minutes at that." Noah lobbed the ball back at Seth, who laughed in a way many Upper East Sider's said was unlike a Bass.

Standing shorter than Noah, Seth Bass had a French lilt to his smooth voice from the summers spent in Paris with his mother. He shared the narrow eyes and set brow of his father, though his mouth and smile begot Eva. An only child on his father's side, he and Noah had always been close.

"Two minutes or twenty, you'd be pissed no matter how late I was." Seth smiled, an expression that suggested mischief more than mirth.

Truthfully Seth was the better basketball player, but Noah had more drive to win. Half an hour later the boys both sat down beside the court, sweaty and tired,

"So, that doctor of yours is half decent."

Noah stared at him with wide blue eyes, "My doctor's a guy…"

"Got an impressive set for a man," Seth laughed around his words, "I assume it was your doctor at the house the other day, Doctor Wood? Unless she's a new shrink for your mother. Dad and I were there looking for you and Nate, she was in the foyer with Juliet and some sour looking bastard in a suit."

When he was nine, Noah had broken an overpriced porcelain statue while trying to reach his Dad's old lacrosse stick. As afraid he was of his mother, it was the cold swear which overtook him he remembered; Juliet had asked the maid with Noah in earshot, and his heart dropped as his innocence hang in the balance.

That was how he felt right then.

"….what was she doing at my house?"

Seth snorted, "I don't know, I was busy imagining her giving me a private physical." Noah would have rolled his eyes if he wasn't currently gripped with paranoia ."She was asking your Mum questions." Seth added, giving Noah a sideways look.

"What kind of questions?"

"How the fuck should I know? Medical questions probably, seeing as how she is a doctor. Why are you strung out over it? Relax, man. You lived!" Seth ran back out onto the court, Noah's unease settling in his mind. It came from a warm, dark familiar place.


	7. Chapter 7

Okay, for the one or two people reading, this is as strange as the story gets. The plots starts picking up after this chapter, the important characters have been introduced. Thanks for reading, sorry for the delayed update.

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><p>Milo crouched beneath the line of hedges, his canine eyes giving shape and form to the darkness. He scanned for movement, his paws feeling the wet leaves shift beneath him as he inched out from cover. The target was near, he could smell her presence. Muscles in his hind legs coiled, Milo prepared to leap.<p>

The impact was preceded by a snarl, and without warning he found himself on his back, staring into her piercing eyes, lit up with amusement. Summer removed her paws from his shoulders and he rolled back to his feet. Her tongue lolled and had she been able to she would have raised an eyebrow.

_Slick._

Milo shook off her taunts, growling as the trotted back towards the entrance to Central Park.

He was nine when he discovered he was different. Living with his mother in Belgium, Milo's reclusiveness and affinity for animals had earned him many labels, _freakloserloner._ But Georgina settled for autistic and sent him to boarding school.

It was there he realised his gift. At fourteen the voice had spoken to him through dreams, and by fifteen he was found by Raff and told of who he was. Like most of his kind, this revelation answered more questions than it posed for him. The energy within him quelled his queries of sanity, and simply said yes.

Yes, you are Milo Sparks.

Yes, I live within you.

Yes, we are Aura.

But, like so many things in his life, Raff was underwhelming. What Milo hoped would be an answer to his loneliness was an old man desperate for salvation, and he had no salvation to give. In the years following he travelled exactly thirty seven weeks, nine hours and twenty eight minutes in search of his mother. An abandoned house and eight empty hotel rooms later, Milo returned to New York questing for his grandparents. Them, he found. And somehow he found Summer.

She looked at him openly and asked why they'd never met. 'I'm looking for my mother,' he said to the round-faced girl. She took on a painful look and told him her mother was gone too, and that she wasn't coming back. Over the next year they built up a friendship based on chance meetings at the most unfortunate times. After the third time she bailed him out of a bar fight with a smile and a soft word he began to realise how old their friendship felt. Had he been as attuned to the power within him as he was now, Milo would have felt the surge of familiarity.

They were nearing the gates when Summer stopped so abruptly Milo stumbled into her. Four feet are easier to remain on than two, and he regained his footing quickly, flattening his ears at her in ire.

Staring intently to their right, Summer didn't notice. Ears pricked, she listened for a moment longer before shaking her head, more or less telling him to continue without her. Trotting off along the fence, Milo indifferently continued back toward the hostel; there was a cute blonde tourist he hoped might warm his bed for the night.

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><p><em>It's colder in there than out here.<em>

Sniffling, Katrina gathered the skirts of her dress and sat on the retaining wall outside the Palace. She pushed a lock of curled auburn hair behind her ear and wiped her cheeks. Though the crisp night air eased her distress, she could still see her mother's withering green-eyed gaze.

Maureen and Tripp Van der Bilt were the only members of the family dynasty with no male children; instead, they had Morgan- who's nineteenth birthday had just passed- and Katrina, four years younger. Though lacking an heir in the traditional sense, they did not want for a boy; Morgan was more than deserving of her role as the first born of the new Van der Bilt generation.

Born with her father's way with people and her mother's ease with the rich and famous, Morgan fit effortlessly into the politis of not only the Upper East Side, but Washington as well. She was a favourite at events, her green eyes crinkling when she laughed, her fair features earning her the favour of many. Smart, charismatic and an endless capacity to know what someone wanted to hear, she did her family proud.

It was easier to give an impression of Katrina not by description, but by taking Morgan and imagining her opposite. Short and stout, the younger Van der Bilt erred towards her father in looks. A gentle face, Katrina was more awkward than graceful, and when she managed to carry on a conversation she often ended it with something weird.

Her parents didn't think of Katrina as a disappointment so much as an afterthought. She was their dumpy, vague daughter- the one they overlooked in interviews and hesitated to introduce at political events. Morgan was going to be a corporate lawyer, maybe one day follow her father to the Senate. How does Katrina, who'd sooner be an arborealist or artist (Maureen's look of horror still came to mind) measure up?

A soft clicking on the pavement had Kat looking up from her lap and panic gripped her for a moment as it mimicked high heels on concrete. But there was nothing.

"Hello?" Kat said softly into the night, hoping no-one would answer. Instead, she noticed the shaggy form of a dog.

It sat on its hind legs, head cocked and staring at her with blue eyes. Its dark fur gave it a wolfish appearance, but Katrina recognised it as a retriever cross breed, or maybe a lab…

"Hey, hey boy, hey puppy.." she held out a hand, clicking her tongue, "What are you doing out here?" The dog wandered over, surprising Kat by jumping up to sit beside her. She chuckled, sniffing again, "Well aren't you a friendly one? You out here taking a break from those stuffy people too, huh?" The dog barked and with her tongue hanging out almost looked as though she was smiling. Katrina laughed with more earnest this time, ruffling the black fur around her neck.

"You like to talk, hmmm? So do I, if anyone would listen. Maybe you're a good match then, you can't tell me to shut up."

"What on Earth are you doing?" Katrina immediately dropped her hands at Maureen's voice.

"Mum, I-"

"How dare you walk out of one of your own father's events. People were asking after you, I had to tell them you were unwell. Then I find you out here, pouring over this, this mutt!" Her mother wrinkled her nose at the dog, who simply looked back, tongue lolled and grin present.

"I'm surprised you even noticed." Kat mumbled, patting the dog between the ears.

"What was that?" When her daughter sullenly stayed silent, Maureen snapped, "Stop touching that feral animal! God only knows what it's carrying, shoo! Get out of here!" The dog barked loudly and Kat giggled as her mother balked, "I'm getting security, it looks rabid. Katrina, come with me."

She didn't move.

"NOW."

The part of her that wanted to rebel was drowned by the part that was afraid of her mother's wrath, and Kat reluctantly stood and left her friend behind. Maureen called for security in a shrill voice, and the dog leapt from the wall. As it trotted down the sidewalk, Kat felt an ache in her chest for the beast. Love, for a dog she'd known for five minutes.

_I need more friends…_


	8. Chapter 8

Aryn, this is for you, I appreciate every word of your reviews :)

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><p>"Do you have any…three's?" Summer glanced at him over her cards, smiling cheekily before answering,<p>

"Go fish."

"What? Again? Fuck this woman!" She laughed airily, and Milo grinned to hear it as he picked up a card.

"So how'd it go with that blonde?" Pairing a couple of fives casually, she missed his comically dismayed expression, "Got any two's?"

"How did you know that, I'm not that transparent, right?" Milo handed her the card, "Right?"

"Maybe you'd be a little less transparent if she hadn't left her black underwear here. Honestly, if you catch an STI I am not taking you to Emergency when something swells up."

Rolling his pastel green eyes, Milo munched on a pretzel while examining his hand. They sat in the common room of the hostel, the small TV in the corner the only other disturbance. Summer popped a pretzel herself, wrinkling her nose girlishly.

"Oh my God, these are disgusting. I can't believe you're eaten more than one,"

"You're so damn fussy-"

"They might actually be salted cardboard…"

"If we called on your Dad we might get to eat something made out of food."

"…not even real salt, that processed stuff made out of carboxy-something impossible to pronounce."

"Got any eights?"

"Summer smirked, "Go fish. And he's not my Dad."

Cursing her Go-Fish skill, milo scowled as he took up another card, "Whatever, he's the reason we're here Sum. If you're gonna see him anyway, we could at least indulge in some Egyptian cotton sheets and muscovy duck." She paused briefly, sighing deep.

"Actually, I don't think that's happening anymore."

"What?"

"Yeah, we already caught up in the Palace lobby."

"What?" Milo feels like a broken record.

"You know, I was going up, he was going down…where have you been, why are you here, tell me you aren't staying…the normal family stuff. Anyway, we can leave soon, thank God. What are you looking at?"

"I cannot believe I've been in this fucking hostel for three weeks for no reason," Milo intoned with flat irritation, "got any fours?"

Summer chuckled as she gave him the card, "Oh come on, what about the blonde girl?"

"To hell with the blonde girl! I've been so bored I watched Doctor Phil reruns all last week. Besides, every place like this has a blonde girl."

Summer blanched, "A woman in every port, hmm?" At his wolfish grin her face pinched, "Ewww…"

Milo winked at her, glancing at the TV over her shoulder. His expression sobered quickly, and he crawled past her to turn up the volume.

"…after a five hour fight, the head of the Van der Bilt dynasty, William Van der Bilt, has passed away. Grandfather to Senator William 'Tripp' Van der Bilt, the mogul's family is one of the oldest and wealthiest in New York, and many members of Upper East Side society are grieving the loss. Details of the funeral are expected in the next few days. William Van der Bilt has been a fixture in New York high society for over sixty years…"

Summer frowned intently, tuning out of the voice over as she watched the footage of UES members milling about the Van der Bilt mansion. Some were vaguely familiar; she knew the poise of Eleanor Waldorf and her round little husband Cyrus Rose. Milo's grandparents appeared briefly, appropriately aggrieved- she heard him still at the sight of them; her eyebrows knitted at the sight of Lily Humphrey's still blonde hair and reasonably believable expression of distress.

When the camera moved to Carter Baizen, Summer visibly tensed then made a soft noise as Tommy, Alex and Celia stood around him like pups about a dog. The newscaster was going on about tragedy and may have mentioned Serena and maybe even her own name, but she was transfixed on her half siblings.

Celia Baizen was only five and threw more towards Carter whereas Summer was more akin to Serena. Celia's jaw and eyes much were like her father, but she'd inherited their mother's think hair only a few shades darker. Tommy looked at eight much like Lily, a narrow face and the same smile, only he had a cheerier disposition, unlike his older brother.

Alexander Eric Baizen was the closest of Summer's siblings in age and appearance. It had been years since she saw him; he had to be fifteen by now. He looked more like a man than a boy, and his Van der Woodsen features made them look more related than any of the others. Unlike Summer, Alex had a serious, stoic nature similar to his father. As an infant he'd gaze at people cooing over him with a frown on his little round face; Serena would laugh and hold him above her, blowing raspberries on his cheeks and calling him her grumpy little man. Summer often wondered if Alex had hardened further after the death of their mother, but anything before that night seemed so alien she wasn't sure she remembered it the way it truly was.

They all looked so different, so _different,_ and she'd never felt as disconnected as she did right then. Two years across the continent, yet in that moment, in the same city for the first time since she'd left, Summer may as well have been halfway across the globe.

The six seconds they were on screen had stretched out before her, but reality snapped back when they disappeared. Summer blew out a breath, leaning back in her chair. After a moment of silence Milo chuckled,

"God your brother looks like a humourless bastard."


	9. Chapter 9

Flashback chapter. I might do these a bit. Hope you enjoy it Aryn :p

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><p><em>Three weeks earlier<em>

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><p>Carter Baizen was used to leaving women in the middle of the night. Used to it, good at it, and once proud of it. He gently shut the door, a cool relief washing over him. Suit jacket slung over one arm, he blew out a breath as he strode down the hall.<p>

In his youth Carter had been close friends with the one night stand. It was his modus operandi, his signature, the way he rolled. Those years were a haze of models, socialites, married women and shy high school girls, women who's faces he didn't remember and names he hadn't cared to learn. The only woman he dated in earnest was Serena, and she had become the only woman he ever really saw a future with.

Then Beth Buckley happened, and Chuck and Blair and Nate, and Carter had let it go as he always had because in truth, he thought Serena would come back to him like she always did. But three years later he saw her hanging off Dan Humphrey, and as she smiled at Carter, _Hey, it's been a while, huh?, _her prominent belly was the proverbial elephant in the room. She was smiling at him and talking softly, and he was confused because her face and tone suggested kindness but he tinks this is what heartbreak feels like.

Then, when she looks at Humphrey and breaks into a gently smile he's never seen before, he's sure.

Carter left New York two hours later and planned on never coming back. He jumped from Dubai to London, criss crossing his way across the globe without stepping foot within two hundred miles of the Upper East Side. The slew of women from his youth returned in force, and he sort of disappeared; he barely even remembered the next year and a half.

A phonecall from Lily had him on the next flight back to New York. Back to Serena. Chuck, suspicious as ever, told Carter if he thought this was his way in with Serena he'd best turn back if he valued his health. He knew most people thought the same of him, but when he opened Serena's bedroom door and heard her soft crying, shoulders shaking as she lay next to her baby, the whole world could think he was an opportunistic bastard for all he cared.

A year passed, fraught with grief and confusion and conflicted feelings on both sides (he hoped), before Serena tugged on his hand one night and asked him to stay. Months of dating and years of marriage followed, and Serena grew back into herself, if a little less sunny. She'd play with Carter's hair and smile at him. But never the way she smiled at Dan Humphrey.

The universe conspired to take Dan from Serena, and it saw fit to take Serena from him. If it chose to take Carter now, he'd leave behind no wife or partner; only a handful of one night stands, jilted women like the one he'd just left would become with the sunrise.

The 'ding' of the elevator had him step out into the vacant foyer, running his fingers through his grey-strewn brown hair as he scanned for people spotting his escape. It was more a force of habit than necessity now. Carter started towards the doors, pulling his watch out of his pocket to fasten it on his wrist. Momentarily looking down, a face in his peripheral vision had him doing a double take.

_Serena._

He'd just slept with another woman, it was his guilty conscience summoning his wife's visage. It wasn't her. Dark blue eyes, slightly pouted lips, a heart-like curve to her face. It wasn't Serena.

_Summer._

His wife's daughter, a girl he'd never thought to see again. Though Serena was gone and this girl wasn't her, Carter still felt guilt from the woman upstairs settle in his gut. Guilt, quickly followed by joysadnesshate. She represented Carter's life so perfectly it made him sick; so alike to his wife, who he loved with his whole self, and a reminder of the man his wife loved more than him.

Summer glanced his way, comically stopping abruptly midstride as recognition and a gauntlet of feelings registered across her features. She opened her mouth to speak but clearly had no idea what to say. With her lips slightly parted she looked so much like Serena Carter wanted to break something, so he purposefully strode over and dragged her by the elbow into the nearest elevator.

They both remained awkwardly silent until the door shut, and Carter looked down at her nose rather than the eyes she'd stolen from her mother.

"What are you doing here?"

Summer raised her eyebrows, "Oh yeah, nice to see you too. I'm fine, but you needn't ask, it's only been two years."

Carter bristled at her Humphrey prickliness, "Oh, I'm sorry, I thought when you left with a bag of my money, prescription drugs and Milo Sparks you weren't coming back. I guess between that and not hearing from you at all wires got crossed."

Her eyes flashed and she seemed taller and she got closer to his face.

_Go ahead,_ Carter thought as Summer dug her fingernails into her palm.

_Say it. Let me hate you._

Whatever she saw in his eyes, it wasn't those thoughts. Her brow softened, and the anger almost tangibly flowed from her body. Since she was a child, Summer had been quick to defend but could never hold onto anger; it slid through her fingers like sand. Carter noted how nothing had changed. She took a step back and a slow breath in.

"I'm not here to spar with you right now, Carter. Although this family time is precious, wouldn't you say?"

"Why are you here?"

"Are we going to ride this elevator all night? Someone will get on eventually."

"Summer!"

She jumped a little at his shout, meeting his iron gaze. "Tell me what you want," He said slowly, :or get off this elevator."

If she was hurt, she hid it well.

"Those people who ran me out of the city, the reason I left?" He nodded, hoping she wasn't about to ask for asylum. "They're looking for Tommy."


End file.
